


how can i tell him

by bevmantle



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Autistic Benrey (Half-Life), Black Mesa Stim Voice, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Not A Game AU, Post-Canon, Vocal Stimming, also no joshua in this AU i was lazy., this is basically glorified songfic and thats ok!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bevmantle/pseuds/bevmantle
Summary: It’s about a month after The Incident when Gordon gets an email from johnwicklover1994@protonmail.com. There’s no subject. Frowning, he clicks it open; there’s no message either. It’s just a YouTube link to a music video. Gordon watches through it, then watches through it again. The refrain sticks in his head for days.Benrey can't use the Sweet Voice anymore, but the only way he knows how to communicate his emotions is through music. So he sends songs. And makes playlists. And burns CDs.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 26
Kudos: 279





	how can i tell him

**Author's Note:**

> rated t for language only! i dont think it needs any content warnings but im pretty tired so pls lmk if i missed anything!

It’s about a month after The Incident when Gordon gets an email from johnwicklover1994@protonmail.com. There’s no subject. Frowning, he clicks it open; there’s no message either. It’s just a YouTube link to a [video of R.E.M. performing So. Central Rain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=msWi0c4tHV8). Gordon watches through it, then watches through it again. The refrain sticks in his head for days.

Not two weeks later, he runs into Benrey on his way into work (yeah, work. As if a little thing like _aliens_ or _interdimensional portals_ or _hundreds of deaths_ would ever stop the godforsaken free market). Gordon’s still working for Black Mesa, helping to salvage what’s left of the labs. Benrey, it seems, has just been let go. Benrey shifts his weight from foot to foot, little cardboard box of the stuff from his locker clutched in his hands. Gordon’s eyes flick down to look at it, taking in some brightly-colored figurines and neatly-captioned polaroids without really registering them. Benrey coughs, once. Gordon comes to his senses with a shake of his head and moves aside to let Benrey pass. Gordon tries very hard not to think about Benrey for the rest of his shift. He has little success.

By the time Gordon gets home, there’s another weird email waiting for him in his inbox. He has a sort of sneaking suspicion, now, about who it might be from. The email is the same: no subject, no message, except this time, the link directs him to a Spotify playlist. Gordon doesn’t pay for Premium—sure, he uses Spotify every now and again, but part of him just keeps forgetting to upgrade, and a much larger part of him resents the idea of _another_ monthly subscription where you don’t even get to own the thing you’re paying for. No, Gordon pirates FLAC files and is _very_ proud of his extensive music library, which he _owns,_ thank you very much. Either way, he supposes, it’s not like he can’t afford it. So he bites the bullet and upgrades, because the idea of being interrupted by advertisements in the middle of a curated playlist—because that’s what this is, isn’t it?—is making his skin crawl.

Once his subscription goes through and his account settings have been adjusted, Gordon settles in to give the playlist a listen. He feels a little silly, sitting at home by himself and listening to a playlist made by Benrey, of all people. Not ha-ha silly. More like “spilling something weird on yourself and having to leave the party early” silly. “Oversharing to the barista who definitely doesn’t care about you” silly. He feels embarrassed, actually. Playlists are so private. But Benrey sent this one to him, which means he wants Gordon to listen to it. So Gordon is listening to it.

[The playlist is short, actually.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/07mna9ultfKVHvBjulGbSN?si=uIWIXerDQ_CXThlIBiBihQ) It’s only eight songs. It opens with A Comet Appears by The Shins before transitioning into Radiohead’s How To Disappear Completely, which really just sets the mood for the whole thing. Gordon likes The Shins, and he listens to a _lot_ of Radiohead, but damn if he isn’t already just feeling completely fucking awful. He takes a deep breath. Alright, it’s only six more songs. He can get through it. Next is an instrumental track from the _Donnie Darko_ _soundtrack,_ of all things, and Gordon would be kind of mad about that if it didn’t fit the mood so well. As it stands, he’s kind of impressed, and also more than a little sad. He fiddles with his headphone cord as he sits through My Whole World’s Coming Apart by John Maus, then I Know It’s Over by The Smiths—holy shit, is Benrey _okay?_ Gordon is starting to clue into the fact that maybe he’s not. Little by little, though, the mood begins to—well, not lighten, exactly, but it starts to ease somewhat. Daniel Johnston is still kind of a sad listen, but at least he’s not an asshole about it like Morrissey is, and the next song after that one even ends on a hopeful note. The playlist closes out with a bittersweet song that features Yoko Ono. _I’m ready, I’m ready to move on,_ she croons.

When the song fades out, Gordon drums his fingers lightly against the keyboard, chewing his bottom lip. It’s not that he’s still mad at Benrey—like, sure, he kind of is, on a superficial level. And maybe, all things considered, he could stand to be angrier. Gordon blinks down at his prosthetic. He’s never been the kind of person to hold a grudge, though, and he’d sooner blame the events of The Incident on the larger and much more sinister force of capitalism, anyway. Unlike Benrey, capitalism doesn’t even have the decency to make him double over in surprised laughter while it’s trying to kill him. Besides, if the playlist he just listened to is anything to go by, Benrey seems way more messed up about everything than he is, which is saying something. Gordon tabs back over to his email and types out a reply to johnwicklover.

_hey benrey. sorry to hear about your job. you doing ok, man?_

Gordon pauses, then jabs at the backspace button. No point asking questions he already knows the answer to. The Radiohead song alone had spoken a thousand words.

_hey benrey. sorry to hear about your job, that really sucks. also, im not mad at you, if youre wondering. grab a coffee with me sometime? my treat._

He hits _Send_ before he can think about it too much, then stretches and gets up to go make dinner. A little while later, Gordon’s phone _pings,_ and he unlocks it one-handedly while he stirs his pasta on the stove.

_ur off 2morrow rite? just come over later. i make a mean latte._

Gordon snorts and shoots back a quick affirmative, not bothering to ask how Benrey knows his work schedule. He waits for Benrey to send the address, gets it and punches it into his map for later, then nearly burns himself when the pasta water boils over. Gordon puts his phone down and finishes cooking in a daze. He eats without registering the taste; he tries to watch some Super Mario 64 speedruns, but it’s like his eyes are barely focused. When it’s nearly time to leave, Gordon tears through his closet like a tornado before stopping to think about who, exactly, he’s trying to impress. He sighs, tosses the button-down he never wears onto his bed, and tugs on one of his favorite t-shirts instead (“DILF: Damn I Love Fysics!” A stupid joke from one of the labs he used to work in). He checks his pockets for his wallet and his keys, locks his front door, and starts walking in the vague direction of Benrey’s apartment.

It’s a short walk, it turns out, and Gordon arrives about twenty minutes later (their places are actually only about ten minutes apart, but he had passed by a bakery and decided to stop). He takes a deep breath and rings the bell.

“Just a sec,” Benrey calls from inside. Gordon hears the inner door unlock, and then Benrey is there, opening the screen door and standing aside so he can enter.

“Shoes off, please,” Benrey says, shrugging one shoulder towards a shoe rack, not really making eye contact. Gordon complies, placing his shoes in an empty spot. When he straightens up, he realizes Benrey is staring at him.

“Hey,” Gordon says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Nice shirt,” Benrey says, lips quirked to one side.

Gordon grins back, then remembers himself. “Oh yeah, I brought some dessert over, since you offered to make coffee. Hope it’s okay.” He hands Benrey a neatly-tied box of cookies.

Benrey hums, turning and walking into the apartment without waiting to see if Gordon is following (he is). “Thanks. Didn’t hafta do that.”

“Oh—it’s no problem.” Gordon looks around. Benrey’s apartment is cozy: small, but not too small; lived-in, with tchotchkes and collectibles everywhere, but not messy. The living room is painted a warm yellow, and the lace curtains flutter in the evening breeze that’s coming through the open window. It looks like a _grandma apartment._ Gordon half expects to see doilies on the arms of the couch or something.

“Sit wherever,” Benrey says. “Coffee’ll be just a sec.”

“Thanks,” Gordon says, a little self-consciously. He plunks himself down on the couch, listening to Benrey putter around in the kitchen. He can hear the whirr of what he assumes is an espresso machine, then the little telltale _thump thump_ of Benrey emptying the portafilter into the trash. Gordon is hit suddenly with the realization of how surreal the whole experience feels. How strange, to think that almost two months ago they had both been fighting for their lives and killing to survive. But that’s life, Gordon supposes, full of surprises.

He’s shaken from his thoughts by Benrey returning to the living room with two iced lattes and a plate of the cookies Gordon brought, all arranged neatly on a wooden tray. Benrey deposits the tray on the coffee table, picks up a coffee with one hand and grabs a cookie with the other, and throws himself into the armchair opposite Gordon.

Gordon reaches for the other coffee, grateful that it’s cold. The heat of the day has long since peaked, but Gordon tends to run warm, and he prefers iced coffee, besides. He takes a sip. It’s really good—Gordon knows that most coffee snobs would turn their nose up at lattes, but life is short and he likes what he likes. And he likes Benrey’s coffee.

“This is great,” Gordon says, and means it. “Thanks, man. Where’d you learn to do this?”

Benrey holds his coffee with both hands now, speaking through a mouthful of crumbs. “Was a barista for a while before doin’ the guard thing. ‘S no biggie.”

“Speaking of,” Gordon says. “Why’d they fire you? I mean, you don’t have to tell me. But, uh, I guess I was kinda wondering.”

Benrey shrugs, frowning down at his glass. “Who knows? Liability or some shit, you know how they are. Got slapped with probation as soon as things got back on track after, uh. When I came back. ‘N then I guess they just decided I was too much of a risk to keep around, even though I _told_ them that I’m, like, ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure I can’t get really big and wreck their shit anymore. Probably.”

Gordon does a double take. “Wait, you can’t? For real?”

Benrey sighs. “Yeah, yuk it up, bro. Been _trying_ but I can’t do the, uh, the get-big thing. Can’t even do, fuckin’, uh—no more Sweet Voice either. Pretty sucks.”

Gordon frowns, wanting to comfort Benrey somehow but not really knowing how to. Gordon has always communicated best through touch. He’s an affectionate person. He likes to give hugs. Gordon’s idea of comfort is a steady hand placed on a shoulder, a repetitive circle rubbed into a shoulder blade. But Benrey feels miles away, sitting on the other side of the coffee table, an island unto himself. Gordon’s hand twitches against his thigh. He coughs and changes the subject.

“Oh yeah, uh. I listened to that playlist you sent me.”

“Huh?” Benrey’s grip tightens around his coffee cup, but he doesn’t make eye contact.

“Yeah, I…” Gordon clears his throat. “Yeah. Are you...doing okay?”

Benrey stares down into his coffee. “What, you never got an apology from someone before? Idiot? Never got into a fight with your bestest buddy and had to, like, explain why you epic failed or whatever?”

“No, I—I mean, I’ve had fights with people before, but I...” Something feels just out of reach in Gordon’s mind, like there are pieces he should be putting together but for some reason he just can’t. “Uh, anyway, it’s cool. You could’ve just said something, man, we work—uh, worked. In the same place. And like I said, I’m...I’m really not mad at you. That test shouldn’t have happened that day, like, at all. None of it should’ve—” Gordon rubs at where his prosthetic meets his arm absentmindedly. “Um. I actually heard that Tommy kinda went ape on his dad afterward, for all the OSHA violations. Uh, but anyway—yeah, it’s—it’s fine.”

Benrey shrugs. “Cool.”

“Yeah…” Gordon trails off. “Um, but thanks. For the, uh, the apology. It was a little unorthodox, I guess, but...thanks. I liked—listening to it. Mostly.” He grins at Benrey. “Come on, dude, The Smiths? What’re you, depressed or something?”

Benrey cracks a little smile, eyes finally flicking up to meet Gordon’s. “Uh, yeah? So what? ‘M big gay and I just lost my job, Feetman, cut me some slack.”

Gordon throws his head back and laughs, fully laughs, for the first time in what feels like forever. It feels really really _good._ When he stops laughing, the silence is comfortable, and Gordon no longer feels like he and Benrey are so far apart.

“Lemme, uh—” Benrey hesitates. “Can I play you a song?”

Gordon sits up, curiosity piqued. “Sure.”

“Cool.” Benrey queues it up on his phone. “I got that sick, uh. Bluetooth. Hang on.” Benrey fiddles around for another second, then sits back. “Got it.”

[Pictures of You by The Cure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8UR2TFUp8w) fades in, and Gordon starts nodding in time with the beat.

“Hey. I love this song,” he says. He hums along when Robert Smith starts to sing. After a moment, though, he stops humming and leans his head back against the couch, just listening as the music washes over him. When the bridge hits, Gordon lifts his head and looks at Benrey. One of Benrey’s hands is twirling the drawstring on his sweatshirt. Gordon sits up, then pats the couch next to him.

Benrey starts, then gestures towards himself, pretending to look around behind him, and Gordon has to stifle another laugh as he nods. Benrey stands, places his cup back on the tray, and sits gingerly next to Gordon on the couch. They’re close, but not touching.

“Do you mind if I just hold you?” Gordon asks between verses.

Benrey looks at him. “Kinda—kinda gay, bro.”

Gordon shrugs. “We’ve been through a lot, man. Just figured you could maybe use a hug. I kinda suck at words, so...yeah. You can say no, though.”

Benrey looks away briefly, then nods at Gordon. “Yeah, you can, um. A hug would be really epic. Play of the game. Uh, please.”

Gordon giggles. “Play of the game?”

“Yeah, uh, you’re into that streamer shit, right? What’s the, um…” Benrey snaps his fingers. “Pog? Poggers? A hug would be really poggers right now, bro.”

Gordon is laughing again as he throws an arm around Benrey’s shoulders. “C’mere,” he says, and pulls Benrey in. It’s a little awkward, but it’s good. Then Benrey opens his mouth and releases a high-pitched, prolonged sound that can only be described as a _shriek_. Gordon jumps.

“Fuck! Shit!” Benrey coughs, wrenching himself out of Gordon’s grip. He curls into himself on the opposite end of the couch. “Fuckin’—I forgot. No more Sweet Voice. Dumbass.”

Gordon gets control of his breathing. “Oh—it’s—hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. Was that, uh. Bad?”

“Yes!” Benrey snaps. “I mean _no._ Fuck.” He puts his head in his hands and groans.

Gordon thinks for a moment, then scoots closer to him. “Can I put my hand on your shoulder?”

Benrey shrugs. Gordon places his hand on Benrey’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

“It’s okay,” Gordon says again. “The sudden noise just scared me, it’s fine. Do you want to try again? Promise I won’t jump or anything.”

Benrey scrubs his hands over his face. “I can control myself, bro,” he mumbles. “Won’t happen again.”

“No, it’s…” Gordon searches for the words. “Like, it must be weird, to not be able to do it anymore.”

“Yeah, it fuckin’ _sucks._ Don’t know how to, uh. Feelings. Talk. ‘S weird, without the colors.”

“Yeah,” Gordon echoes. “Well, like I said, I don’t mind. Make whatever sounds you gotta make, dude.”

“Huh?” Benrey says. “Uh—okay.” He looks at Gordon, then lifts his arms a little nervously. “Hug please? For best friend Benrey?”

Gordon gives him a soft smile and hugs him again. The angle is better this time, and Gordon rubs Benrey’s back a little without really thinking about it. It’s nice to feel another body against his. Nice to feel Benrey’s warmth, solid and _there_ in his arms. Benrey wiggles, resting his cheek on Gordon’s shoulder. Gordon sighs contentedly and presses a little kiss into Benrey’s hair.

Benrey gives a strangled little cry, but true to his word, Gordon just tightens his arms around him and rubs his back.

“You okay?” Gordon murmurs.

Benrey nods, hands gripping Gordon’s shirt. After a long moment, Gordon feels Benrey’s hands relax. He pulls away with a smile.

“Feel better?”

Benrey nods. “Think so. Yeah.”

“Hey, so,” Gordon says, wanting to ask about what’s been on his mind. “What’re you gonna do? Now that you’re not working at Black Mesa?”

Benrey shakes his head. “Dunno. Don’t have a lot of savings...maybe go back to coffee. Haven’t really thought about it.”

Gordon studies him. “Hey, if you...if you need anything, just ask, okay? Seriously, like—I dunno if it’s because Tommy talked to his dad or what, but they, uh. They’re paying me, kind of a lot? And I live alone, and stuff. So, uh. It’s cool.”

Benrey looks away, but nods.

Gordon looks around the living room. The music has long since shuffled onto something else he doesn’t recognize; the sun is almost completely set, and it’s dark outside.

“I should probably get going,” Gordon says. “Thanks, though. For the coffee. And, uh—well, I won’t lie, the physical contact was really—it was nice. Thanks.”

Benrey jumps up off the couch. “Oh. Wait there for a sec. I have, uh—hang on.” He turns, practically running down the hall and vanishing into another room.

Gordon waits patiently for a few minutes, then curiosity gets the better of him and he heads down the hallway until he gets to the room Benrey disappeared into. He knocks on the door, then opens it and sticks his head in.

“Benrey?”

“Whuh?” Benrey jumps, staring at Gordon. His bedroom is messy, but not dirty. There are some clothes thrown here and there. There’s an unmade bed with dark sheets and a dark comforter, and a night table with a salt lamp and a bong on it. There are some posters for movies and games hanging on the walls—Gordon registers Mission: Impossible 2 and Metal Gear Solid before remembering that Benrey is still right there, staring at him. The desk Benrey is sitting at is covered in CDs and papers. Benrey tears his gaze away from Gordon to glance at his computer.

“Gimme a sec, it’s going kinda—” The computer _dings,_ and then Benrey hits a button and it whirrs and spits a disc out. Benrey grabs it with one hand, uncaps a Sharpie with his teeth and scribbles something on it, then clicks it into a jewel case and snaps it shut. He caps the Sharpie and holds the CD out to Gordon. “Uh. For you.”

Gordon takes it, mystified. No one’s given him an actual, honest-to-God mix CD in—well, it’s been a long time. He holds it delicately, by the edges, like it’s a photo he might smudge by accident. “I—wow. I’ll, um—I’ll listen to this when I get home. Thanks, Benrey.”

“Don’t mention it,” Benrey says. “Uh. I can walk you out.”

Gordon takes a step back into the hallway. Benrey follows, closing the bedroom door behind him. They walk back to the front door, where Benrey watches Gordon struggle to put his shoes back on.

Eventually, Gordon finishes tying his laces and straightens up. “No pressure, but do you wanna, uh...you wanna grab breakfast tomorrow or something?” he says, scratching at his cheek.

Benrey lets out a long, monotonous tone, then closes his mouth with a shake of his head. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”

Gordon blows out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and smiles. “Cool. I’ll text you when I get home? Oh, wait—I don’t think I have your number.”

“I can give it to you,” Benrey says quickly.

“Cool,” Gordon unlocks his phone and passes it over. “Go ahead, just put it in.”

Benrey nods, looking down at the phone. “Hey, what kinda, uh—you got no games on here, bro. Android—Android user ass and you don’t even have Angry Birds. Dunno if I can put my number on here. Cringe ass normie phone.” 

Gordon laughs. “Hey, quit—quit judging my apps. Just put your number in my contacts before I change my mind.”

Benrey pretends to be hurt, but finishes typing. “Done.” He hands the phone back to Gordon, who sees that Benrey’s name has been entered as “BENRY”, with an emoji of a heart with an arrow through it on one side and a sparkling heart on the other. Gordon snorts and slides his phone into his pocket.

“‘Night, Benrey,” Gordon says as he steps out the front door.

“G’night,” Benrey says, raising one hand in a wave. “Lemme know when you get home.”

Gordon turns back to look at him. “What? Why?”

Benrey stares at him. “Uh—so I know you got there safe? Idiot.”

Gordon feels himself blush, glad that it’s dark outside. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay,” Benrey says. “Well. Bye.”

Gordon waves, and walks down the couple steps to the sidewalk. He starts down the block, then turns to look back. He can still make out Benrey’s silhouette in the doorway, which gives him a funny swoopy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Gordon makes it home in record time.

When he gets inside, Gordon kicks off his shoes and goes to change into pajamas. He remembers to text Benrey as he’s brushing his teeth, shooting off a quick _made it home! thx again. hows eleven thirty for tomorrow?_ He sees the little bubble pop up that means Benrey is typing; after a second, Benrey’s text comes through.

_works 4 me. see u then_

Gordon smiles. _gonna go put on the mix cd now btw! excited to listen to it_

The bubble with the three dots pops up again, then vanishes. Gordon waits for a minute, toothbrush in hand; when no more texts from Benrey come through, he shrugs, rinses off his brush, and heads back into his room.

Gordon picks up the CD from where he dropped it on his bed and studies it. [SONGS I FEEL WHEN I LOOK @ U](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3aW78ODI76wv762Q9tjXHH?si=Wyy7RX3nT2uujp6JfFsz4g) is scribbled on the front. Gordon’s heart does a funny thump. For a second he thinks about playing the CD off his laptop, but something about the situation is just begging for nostalgia, so Gordon goes and digs through a box in his closet until he finds his Walkman. He pops it open, puts the CD in, and gets comfy in bed.

About an hour later, Gordon thinks he understands some things a little better. He puts his Walkman on the nightstand and reaches for his phone.

 _you still awake?_ he texts.

_dont sleep much. lol_

Gordon is a little nervous. _can i send you a song?_

Benrey sends back the eyes emoji, followed by a thumbs-up.

Gordon takes a deep breath and texts Benrey a [YouTube link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PtxccHGppA).

A few minutes later, Gordon’s phone buzzes.

_get some sleep, gordon. ill see u in the morning._

**Author's Note:**

> this idea got into my head and wouldnt leave so i had to write it. my hlvrai tumblr's over at [jewishbubby](https://jewishbubby.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hey!


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